The Lighter Side

In keeping with the recreation step of Nabor House's object, life at Nabor House is far more than studies and work. There is a lighter side, too. Recreation, fun, and relaxation take many forms. Most Nabors enjoy and watch varsity Illini sporting events, and some have participated on varsity teams. Virtually everyone has taken part in intramural sports, including co-recreational ones.

Music has been a meaningful part of life among the actives. It may be group singing at evening meals or social gatherings. Duets, trios, and other combinations are often formed, and some of them have even entertained for business and social groups. Some Nabors participate in University musical groups or church choirs. And, of course, ther have been the various traditional house social functions such as dances, Christmas parties, exchange dinners, and a myriad of others far too numerous to list. Then, there are the "horse-play" fun and games typical of young college men. Some are structured, most spontaneous. Here are select examples.

Spas (Pronounced "Spazz")

Spas, the brainchild of James G. Walker, '66, was established in Jan. 1965. It was formed "to honor," or more accurately deprecate, "spastic occurrences, moments of spasticity, spasmatic acts, and spasticated," or in more familiar terms, the most hilarious or outlandish antic of the week.

The original Spas "trophy" was a round, cardboard cylinder "engraved" by a magic marker. Awarded weekly, it had a mirror and a small "plaque" reading, "look at the SPAS of the week." The inside cover read, "I was a SPAS..." with space for the award winning act to be duly recorded. The inside of the back cover said, "SPAS!!," followed on another line by "you are a member of S.O.S.," the latter meaning "Society of SPASs."

Recipients of the Spas award are selected by a "sophisticated" procedure. Perhaps some variations have taken place in the selection method, but the following one provides an insight about the way it is done. Nominations are opened at Monday dinner. Individuals tell stories about what has happened. Nominations close. Voting takes place by striking a knife against one's dinner plate. The longest and loudest vote determines the recipient--the presider determines which response is loudest and longest. No biases, no weighted voting in that objective approach!

"Although Nabors are not traditionally known for 'spasing up,'" according to one sage Nabor, "those clumsy moments do seem to creep into daily life, creating amusing and embarrassing episodes." Here is a sampling of the Spas's and their spasmatic acts that earned them this coveted distinction:

Anonymous -- Drove car to library, walked home, leaving car parked on street; didn't find it till next morning when happened by and noticed it with a $3 ticket.

Ronald L. Bailey, '78 -- Happened quite accidentally and unintentionally late one night! I was on the parking lot hosing down chairs, fellow workers, and anyone within range in 2nd floor dorm. I was intently bent over a chair spraying it down when a flashlight beam hit me in the face. Thinking it was coworkers, I released a light spray of water. A rough voice said, "What do you think you're doing?" Our of the darkness walked two policemen. Luckily, one took mercy as I fell to my knees begging forgiveness. I got off scot-free.

Gary L. Borah, '71 -- Fell asleep one night in Ag Library, woke up to find all lights off and himself locked in.

Merle W. Hall, '79 -- Prepared chili, upon taste test found it different; had used two gallons of ketchup instead of tomato soup.

Gary C. Martin, '75 -- By no fault of his own (?) went on botany field trip when supposed to be on geology trip which left from the same place at the same time.

Daryl K. Mealiff, '75 -- At 7 p.m. sharp, called rushee hoping he would accept as a pledge. Since he was in a hurry, he called rushee's social security number for five minutes trying to get an answer.

Fred M. Nightingale, '72 -- Discovered applying too much force to plastic ketchup bottle is excellent way to get beautiful masterpiece of modern art.

Jay H. Olson, '80 -- Sacked out on comfortable couch in Union after staying up late studying night before. Next thing he knew, someone was talking loudly. Sat up, found podium and tables moved right in front of couch. Had to get up in the middle of speech, put on coat, shoes, and pack and leave as quietly as possible.

Steven H. Wetzel, '76 -- Had dusted tops of several pieces of furniture. Noted strong odor, discovered had used can of Right Guard.

And then, there are those recipients who have spastically direct, open explanations or excuses:

Steven L. Groth, '74 -- The bare facts are that I stuck my nose in somewhere it didn't belong!"

Joseph C. House, '77 -- I am vastly undeserving of this award, but I will state the insufficient reasons for having obtained it..."

Troy L. Orwig, '73 -- I inadvertently threw a firecracker across the street where an Illi-cop was--then discussed it with him

Peter A. Petges, '69 -- I gave myself a black eye -- I got mad and kicked myself in the eye.

Wake Up

Wake up is one of those functions so important in group housing but so frequently frustrating to the person on wake-up. One has said that it is hard to believe how much a person's desire to get up early can decrease during a few hours of sleep. The wake-up man gets many nice notes in the evening and nearly as many not-so-nice responses early the next morning. Some of those notes were real jewels:

It is very important that I am up tomorrow by 6:45 a.m. If you have to be violent, please do. Here's your chance to gain revenge for a grudge harbored or just to vent your frustrated rage.

Wake me up at 6 a.m. with a smile and a laugh, please -- that turns me on and brightens my day.

Wake me at 6:45 a.m. and then pull my bones out of bed at 7 a.m. Don't take no for an answer. Get rough and leave me on the floor if you have to.

That wake-up was a challenge to the pledges and Litle A's is reflected in the pledge class of 1961's own version of some inclusions for an active's manual: "Wake-up duty: It shall be the duty of all actives to wake up when woken up." But some tactics were found to be effective. Keith F. Schertz, '49, Pledgemaster in the spring of 1948, upon receiving complaints from the pledges about wake-up told them, "The second time we wake them, we get rough." (That meant water.) He got results. But one hard-to-wake man acknowledged the difficult task of getting him up. Roger L. Higgs, '60, said: "I will to the Nabor House Library by latest best-selling novel, 'I Drove a Wake-up Man to Suicide.'

Food and Commissary

Vital as the commissary may be to the lives of Nabors, both the commissary unit and the commissary officer are the butt of many jokes and barbed comments, perhaps most of them undeserved. in spite of some goof-ups, here and there, the commissary department operates remarkably well, especially in view of the fact that many of the men have had no cooking experience prior to entering the house Some of the incidents that have taken place and the jobs and observations about the food are "classics" that particularly the men experiencing them will never forget.

For example, was the heading, "Commissaries Coroner," in the May 15, 1957 Nabor Nubbins an inadvertent misspelling? In 1958, what prompted the appearance in the kitchen of the slogan, "If all else fails, follow directions," that was signed, "A relieved commissary." And, there was the commissary who gave his second semester state-of-the-stomach address. unusual concoctions appeared occasionally, like "Stewgetti." A freshman mistakenly put stew meat instead of hamburger in the spaghetti. His sophomore brother topped that when he fried fish in corn starch instead of corn meal. One that was a real favorite was Ellery L. Knake's ('49) cornbread. Someone said, "Believe it or not--it's the whole truth--he puts raisins and coconut in that cornbread. Ummmm, Good!" There was pickle soup, enthusiasm soup--the cook puts everything he's got in it--golden glow soup--one large carrot boiled in three gallons of water and properly seasoned, solid gold soup--the only ingredients were 24 carrots and water, left over beets added to soup, and the plea for something in the soup besides water.

And there were other innovations, intended or accidental. David F. Mealiff, '74, devised the ultimate Sunday night gourmet treat, a bread sandwich. That is, two slices of bread with another slice between them--no spread, just plain! St. Patrick's Day found is way onto the table in unusual ways, green obviously. There were Stanley H. "Stan" Schick's ('78) green mashed potatoes. And the cook crew of John F. "Jack" Campion, '81, John R. Kelley, '80, and Mark E. Ridlen, '81, served green macaroni and cheese. Not everyone found the meal appetizing, but no one at lunch that day could forget it. on another occasion, green made its way to the dining table, but it is not clear whether it was St. Pat's Day. Dr. and Mrs. Karl Gardener were dinner guests. That was while Dr. Gardner was still in Dairy Science. It was also in the days of white oleo, so the men colored the oleo green that night.

Miscues, biases, and inexperience had their effects, too, like Edward L. Turner's ('61) attempt to serve "possum stew." That piece of culinary art disappeared out of the kitchen before it was completely cooked, and is permanently etched in the memories of the men in the house at that time. When Robert. E. Drake, '46 1/2, was commissary, the budget was tight. So he bought beef tongues--they were economical, boiled and served them for lunch intact, including the skin. Bob reported, "I was quickly dispatched to the kitchen with orders to remove and slice them to be unrecognizable. Never as a commissary did I meet such open rebellion."

Donald N. Duvick, '48, remembers that the practice of the cooks starting pork to roast about 1 p.m., going to class, and returning in the late afternoon to take the roast from the oven ready for diner. One day the cooks--and all Nabors returned to a house reeking with the pungent smell of hot boar. It seems that the U of I meats lab had mistakenly given them roast from the control animal in a test of chemical substitutes for castration. The house and the men's clothes smelled decidedly "boary" for days. Carl W. Clover, '45, recalls his first attempt at making butterscotch pudding that the guys bounced down the steps without it disintegrating. And Fred M Nightingale, '72, tells about the cooks preparing a casserole so bad that they set it out for the men to eat, and the cooks went to McDonald's.

Dinner guests, according to Paul J. Ferree, '48, often joined in when the men "horse-and-goggled" extra dessert or steak. To the unfamiliar, everyone around the table raised his hand displaying one to five fingers at the count of three. The head of the table totaled the number of fingers, then counted off around the group. The person that got that particular number not only got to eat the item, he had to heat it. The Chancellor and Dean are numbered among the guests who have been amused by this caper.

Potpourri

Pranks, practical jokes, and funny incidents have abounded in Nabor House and leave a legacy of memories, like these:

Michael F. Campbell, '64, remembers the removed tree stump at 811 W. Oregon that they placed under the rear axle of cars making it seem that the car had a problem. It was especially effective when Fred F. Manhart, '64, wanted to impress his 4-H House date with his new convertible.

Frederick J. Cluskey, '66, a sleepwalker went to the kitchen one night and made out a week's menus. He didn't remember doing it. Another night he got his car keys and put them under his mattress. When he could not find them the next day, Robert D. Carlson, '66 1/2, his bunkmate solved the puzzle when he remembered a clinking noise upon Fred's return to bed.

A heavy ice storm interrupted the house's powder during finals. Robert H. Coffman, '60, and James O. Melton, '60, solved the problem by studying outside under a street light, claiming they learned the stuff cold.

Howard W. Lanus, '41, recalls vividly when some prankster emptied a Nabor's tooth powder container and filled it with powdered alum. The result: one very puckered Nabor.

Gregory L. Olson, '70, and Michael C. Manhart, '70, changed their bed sheets twice a year--Mother's Day and Dad's Day--whether they needed it or not.

Walker D. Parks, '40, remembers the actives tubbing the seniors who retaliated by settling all the clocks and watches ahead early one Sunday morning. Two Catholics who went to early mass discovered the switch but not before two whose wrist watches could not be changed because they were sleeping on them found they were an hour behind and reset their own watches an hour ahead.

F. Scott Reifsteck, '76, came back to the house late one winter evening to find his bunk on top of the house with an extension cord for the electric blanket, all courtesy of Thomas R. Murphy, '76, and Ronald D. Starr, '76.

David E. Christopherson, '61, forgot to mow the neighbor's lawn. At 11 p.m., he was mowing by flashlight when the lady raised her window and said, "Is that you, Christie?" He replied, "Yes!" and went on mowing.

Kent H. Burrow, '88, back for a weekend from his Washington DC internship, asked Rodney M. Stoll, '89, whether he could borrow Rod's car to run out to the airport. Rod unhesitatingly let Kent's girlfriend take his car to drive Kent to the airport. But there was miscommunication. Rod didn't know that it was the Indianapolis airport.

David E. Zwicker, '69, is a man of many words, to wit, "Dearest Donald: My indebtedness to your extreme benevolence, in my regard, exceeds even my extreme stupidity--which need not be extenuated. Zwick." What did he say?